one
her, Tabitha had rushed heedlessly up the hill and down through the
pathless tangle of wet greasewood and sagebrush, splashing through mud
and water with reckless abandon, and arriving home in a deplorably
bespattered state, with feet wet and dress dripping. Aunt Maria saw her
coming and met her at the door with an exclamation of horror: "Tabitha
Catt! What do you think you are about? The very idea of running through
puddles in that manner! Get off those wet shoes this minute and put your
feet in the oven. If I just had some mullein leaves now to make
compresses with! Look at your dress, and this is the second this week.
Lucky this is Friday or you would have to wear a dirty gown to school
tomorrow."

The door opened again and Mr. Catt came in just in time to hear the last
words of the scolding. Laying the watermelon on the table, he turned to
the child huddled in the corner close to the hot stove, and demanded,
"How did you get so muddy?"

"Coming home from school."

"Say 'sir' when you address me. What were you doing to get so wet?"

"Running."

"_What?_"

"Running, sir."

"What were you running for?" He was trying to make her confess what had
happened at the schoolhouse, but she had her own method of answering
questions, and that was seldom very satisfactory to the questioner so
far as the amount of information was concerned.

"For exercise," she snapped, forgetting her fear of him in her
exasperation at these other unhappy events.

"You were fighting," he said sternly, and she started in surprise, but
made no answer. "Weren't you?"

"No."

"_What?_"

"No, sir."

"Tabitha Catt!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Go to your room. No melon
tonight for a girl who will tell such a deliberate lie."

Tabitha rose instantly, seized her draggled belongings and started for
her door, but paused on the threshold to say, "I hit him only once. That
ain't fighting, is it? I wanted to trounce him good; he deserved it."

Her door shut with an emphatic bang, and the weary, perplexed,
belligerent little girl crept into bed to sob herself to sleep.

Breakfast was over, the dishes all cleared away and the kitchen deserted
when she awoke the next morning; but on the table stood a tray on which
her lunch was set forth, and beside it lay a note from Aunt Maria saying
that a sick neighbor had sent for her and she would be gone for some
time.

Tabitha took a survey of the premises. Tom was at the office, the father